


Coming Out Of My Cage

by vivisextion



Series: The Bright Side [1]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Gen, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans! Damien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-13 16:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11764359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivisextion/pseuds/vivisextion
Summary: Damien comes out to each of his neighbours. The aftermath is the next work in this series.





	1. Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On friendship through the ages, reminiscing about the past, and how far the journey has brought one.

Mary was the first to know.

He’d met her in college, when Fate had decreed that they would be roommates. The name of this college was something he was always reluctant to discuss in casual company, as it gave away too much about himself. Sharing a room during the formative years of their youth had made them best friends for life.

Back then, he’d already embraced the goth lifestyle, favouring a more androgynous wardrobe. Mary was punk through and through, safety pins and all. This meant that they borrowed items of clothing from each other all the time, but she often lamented how much bigger her roommate’s foot size was, or she’d steal more shoes from him.

She’d been painting his nails (black, of course) one day, as they sat on the floor of their room, when he sighed wistfully.

“What’s up with you?”

“I wish I’d been born a boy.”

It consumed his thoughts all the time, ever since he’d been a child, but there was something about saying it out loud that made it more real. It felt less like a figment of his imagination.

“I feel the same about once a month,” she replied. She laid his hand carefully on her knee to inspect her work.

“It’s just…” Frustration robbed him of his vocabulary. He’d never been able to articulate this out loud. “Why couldn’t I have been? Everything would be so much easier.”

“Yeah. Fuck the patriarchy. Imagine how much easier we’d get by with male privilege.”

“I mean, that’s true and all, but it’s also… It feels wrong. I feel… I feel as though when I was being made, my Creator put me in the wrong physical form. As though I’ve been given the wrong body. Is that weird? It’s so jarring sometimes, to wake up and look at myself in the mirror, and…” He stopped short, because Mary was staring at him, brush paused in mid-air.

Later on, he knew that this was when she’d realised. She’d realised long before him, really.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered. “I think I know what’s happening.” Mary leaned over and hugged him tightly, for a long time. “You’re not wrong. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He felt his eyes prick with tears. “I get by, most of the time, but… sometimes, it feels almost unbearable, to have to exist in this skin, unable to look, and feel, and be the way you want to be.” Mary shifted to sit next to him, putting an arm around him. He curled up against her side, wiping his face. It was clear that he had never told a soul until now. “I wish it would just go away. I wish I could just be normal,” he said, mournfully.

“No, fuck that.” Mary sat up straighter. “Dames, you look at me. You don’t have to be normal. You can still be you. You be whatever makes you happy. Okay?” He stared in wonder at her. In that moment, with her fiery red tresses, she looked more Valkryie than young woman. “I will personally curbstomp anyone who tells you otherwise.”

He sniffed. “You’re the best friend I could ever ask for, and I’m infinitely grateful you’re in my life.”

“Aw, come on, kid, don’t make me start bawling too.” She patted his hair. “I think I know some people that can help.”

The next day, she’d taken him to the only LGBT youth centre in town, and he felt like he’d come away with more questions than answers. But it was a good feeling, to know he wasn’t alone, to know there was a light at the end of the tunnel, to know that he was free to be him.

After college, they’d found an apartment together, where they continued to be roommates. He’d waited until after graduation to start. She took him to all his doctor’s appointments, all his counseling sessions, everything. He’d been so nervous, and he hadn’t wanted to be alone, but he needn’t have worried. Mary was with him throughout it all.

She’d cried at the doctor’s office, when he’d got his first prescription of hormones. She’d cried at the civil court, when his name had been legally changed. She’d cried at the hospital, when he came out of surgery, and again when she took him back home to nurse him through the pain.

“It’s tears of joy, silly,” she told him every time, when he’d get flustered and bid her not to.

* * *

“Dames,” she drawled, staring into her whiskey, more than a little drunk. “You know. My own life may be a failure. It is. Let’s face it.” She looked up at him, battle-weary, so much older, so much wiser. “But at least, at the very least, I saw my special boy come this far. You made it. And I’m okay with that.”

“Mary, you are not a failure,” he insisted, sipping his own cranberry and vodka.

“It’s fine. I’m fine with it.” Her words were a tiny bit slurred, and she rested her head on friend’s shoulder.

“I found something in the attic the other day.” He pulled something out of his cloak, giving it to her. She looked at it and squealed loudly, frightening several patrons of the Jim and Kim’s.

It was an old Polaroid of the two of them, back in the day. They both had hair teased ridiculously high, and they were both wearing copious amounts of makeup and fishnet stockings. The only difference was the colour of their lipstick and hair - Damien's was black, and Mary’s was firetruck red.

“Oh my god! I remember this!” She snatched it from him, and he laughed at her sudden exuberance. “Awww, look at you! You were such a baby bat.”

She flipped it over. On the back, in his younger self’s handwriting, were the words, “Thank you for everything.”

“That still holds true, you know,” he told her, patting her hair fondly. “You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, Mary.”

“Pffft.” She waved a careless hand. “I wasn’t doing it for that, was I? You’re my friend. I know you’d do the same for me. I know. I’ll always have you. You'll always have me.”

“Absolutely.” He clinked glasses with her. “To our eternal and undying friendship,” he declared.

She giggled and clinked back. “Love you, Dames.”


	2. Joseph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On death, what comes after, and acceptance in religion.

It had been the anniversary of his husband’s passing, and Damien had come to lay a bouquet of his favourite flowers on his grave. As it was customary for him, he had brought several more flowers from his own garden in a basket, to lay by the headstones of the other inhabitants of the graveyard. They were largely forgotten, but not by him.

As he placed white chrysanthemums on the grave of a young girl who had died in the early 1900s, he spotted a figure ahead, wandering the grounds. It turned out to be Joseph, who hailed his neighbour in a friendly manner.

“Damien! Doing your rounds again?” Joseph smiled.

“Today is... particularly remarkable.” Damien glanced at an angel headstone over yonder.

“Ah.” Joseph looked at his friend, who seemed a little more solemn than usual. “Care to walk with me? I came out of the chapel to stretch my legs.”

Damien nodded. They took a path heading towards the angel, but Damien did not dread it. Talking about him made his memory live on, and Damien cherished that.

“He once joked that he would have liked a mortsafe over his tomb.” Joseph looked confused. “They were these cages that Victorians laid over their graves,” Damien explained.

“To prevent the undead from rising?” Joseph grinned, making him chuckle.

“Close. They were contraptions to prevent graverobbers from pilfering their remains for anatomy practice.”

“I don’t think I would mind so much,” Joseph mused. “When I die, my soul will be with the Lord, and if my body helps generations of medical students learn, I’d be at peace with that.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

They came to a stop in front of an ornate, weather-beaten angel statue, carved from marble. Its head was bowed over the grave, keeping a constant vigil over it.

Damien broke the silence. “There’s so much symbolism in a cemetery.” 

“Its wings are outstretched, representing the soul’s flight to Heaven,” Joseph murmured. “Are you hoping that is where he is?”

Damien’s face was sombre, staring at the protective angel, watching over his husband. “I am not a particularly religious man, Joseph… If he is, I don’t know if I would meet him there when my time comes.” 

“What makes you say that?” Joseph peered at him with curiosity.

“I have something to confess,” Damien said, not looking at Joseph, his eyes still fixed on the grave.

“Should I go get my collar?”

Damien managed a small smile, but it faded quickly.

“Joseph, Lucien is my son by blood. That is his father. Do you understand what that means?”

It dawned on Joseph all at once, and realisation washed over his face.

“My friend… why would that exclude you from God’s embrace?”

Damien looked a little taken aback. Joseph laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know there are some of my kind that are rather… outspoken about the matter, but they’re full of hate, and that’s all they preach. I can’t speak for the man, but I’m fairly sure the Christ I know would never stand for such a thing.”

“Yes, I do seem to recall a story in which He chases evildoers out of temples and upends all their tables in righteous anger.” The corners of Damien’s mouth quirked up. “I am a little hazy on the details. Sunday school was a long time ago.”

“More or less, but you’re right.” Joseph laughs. “Damien, He made us all in His image, and in His eyes, we are all His children. You and I are both fathers, so you understand. No matter what, you’d love Lucien all the same. His love for us is unconditional, and we are all welcome in His home if we choose it.”

Damien blinked. “That’s… that’s lovely, Joseph. Thank you.”

“Technically, it can be argued that God is at once all genders and none. Transcendental to gender, if you know what I mean.”

“That's fascinating. I never considered that.”

They walked in comfortable silence to the large iron gates of the cemetery, treading a path that led back to the church. Somehow, Joseph’s words seemed to have lifted the gloom in his heart.

“I have to get back in there. A youth minister’s work is never done.”

“Perhaps it is the nature of your occupation, but confiding in you has brought me comfort.” Damien handed the last pink carnation to his neighbour. “This is for you. I believe in Christian legend these grew from the Virgin Mary’s tears as Christ bore his cross, but they also symbolise gratitude.”

Joseph, astonished, took it, beaming at Damien.

“Any time you’re up for a stroll through the graveyard, let me know. I’ll be happy to further discuss the semantics of theology. You know where to find me.”

He waved as he left, and Damien watched him disappear into the church. Indeed, it seemed they would have a lot to talk about. He had many years of religious philosophy to catch up on.


	3. Robert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On standing up to bullies, self-defense tips, and letting go of shame.

Truth be told, he only really knew Robert through Mary. The two seemed to be partners-in-crime, and were often found having a drink together. Robert had always been friendly to him, or as friendly as it was possible for Robert to be, anyway.

The three of them had been having drinks at a bar known simply as Whiskey Is Neat. Mary had met a colleague from work while getting the next round, and gotten trapped in polite conversation. That didn't stop Robert from spinning his yarn.

“And so, poor Johnny boy and I are stuck out there in the forest, no hope at all of the other Search and Rescue officers ever finding us. Out of nowhere we hear this noise. It's like screaming, but inhuman, totally animalistic. It could have been a puma, since they'd been spotted in the area, but we know it was something. Something... worse.” Robert stared at him intensely over his glass of scotch during the dramatic pause. “We had to get the fuck out of Dodge. So-”

“Heeeeey, Robert!”

A disheveled, clearly inebriated man slid into the booth next to Robert, who shot him a look of distaste. The stout drunkard was apparently an acquaintance of his, though Robert did not seem too happy about this.

“Haven't seen you in a while! Who's she, your new squeeze?”

Damien flushed with embarrassment. Perhaps the man had been mistaken, due to his long hair. Thankfully, Robert cut in.

“Geez, how much have you had? This is my neighbour, Damien.”

“Psssh, I know a lady when I see one.” The man was now making kissy faces at Damien.

“Don't be fucking ridiculous. He works with Mary.”

“Whatever you say, buddy.” The man got up unsteadily, waving at Damien with a sleazy grin, before he wandered off.

“Ignore that asshole,” Robert told him, as Mary returned to the empty seat next to Damien, finally able to extricate herself from social obligation.

“Was Lewis just hitting on Dames?”

“He's sloshed. Though Damien was a chick.”

Damien and Mary exchanged a significant look. She scoffed. “Dumbass.”

They let Robert get back to his tale. Tall as they were, they were riveting. Robert was a master storyteller, and it was almost tempting to believe him. However, Mary had to leave early that night to tend to the twins, who were a real handful by the sound of it. Before she left, though, she'd leaned over and whispered into Robert’s ear, who nodded.

Robert continued his epic of The Time I Worked For The US Forest Service late into the night. Damien listened intently, head propped up on one hand, elbow on the table, hooked on his every word. But eventually, it was late, even for them. Robert, funnily enough, offered to walk him home. Damien accepted with gratitude and curiosity. It wasn't that Robert was an unkind man, but this was an unusual level of concern for him.

“Don't sweat it,” he said, donning his leather jacket against the night air. “We’re going the same way.”

“Hey!”

A shout rang out from behind them. They both turned, surprised. Behind them, on the deserted street, was Lewis. He was swaying slightly, with a mean grimace on his face. It was a little eerie, given that they were all alone in the night with this man.

“What do you want, Lewis?” Robert asked, sounding exasperated.

“I know what you are,” the man sneered, pointing at Damien with a crooked finger.

“Shut up.” Robert immediately took a step forward in front of Damien, blocking him from view. “I don't care how wasted you are. If you keep harassing my friend-”

“What? What you gonna do, tough guy?” Lewis lunged forward. “Huh? You think you're so hard? He’s not a real man. He's only a fucking fa-”

Robert swung at him with his elbow before he could finish. It smashed him in the side of the head, and the man dropped to the ground like a sack of shit. Damien gasped.

“You see that? Don't use your fist to hit someone. Hands are delicate. Elbows are not.” He turned to Damien. “You okay, buddy?”

Damien was shaking. Adrenaline had turned his nerves to live wires. He was too stunned to respond. Even breathing seemed a little difficult to orchestrate.

“Damien?” Robert took him by the shoulders. “You with me, pal? Just breathe in deep for me.”

Damien blinked, but his vision was a little blurry. “Wh… what?”

“Fight or flight response got to you. But you're gonna be okay. Just stick with me.”

They left the unconscious man in the street, after Robert unceremoniously kicked him to one side. Robert walked him to his doorstep, and sat him down on the porch. He slung his leather jacket around Damien’s shoulders.

“Breathe, man.”

Damien tried. It was like swimming through molasses. They sat side by side, a long moment of silence passing. Damien buried his face in his hands.

“You... you didn't have to do that.”

“Hey. We’re neighbours. You're Mary’s boy. If I have to hit someone for you, I will.”

“He… he wasn't wrong.” Damien stared miserably at the floor.

“If you mean what he was about to call you before I knocked his lights out, I think we’re in the same boat on that one.”

Damien shook his head. Tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes. Why was he getting upset over something as stupid as this?

“No, I mean, before that. He… he said I wasn't a real man.”

Robert looked over at him, incredulous. “How much have _you_ had? I'm pretty sure you are.”

“Robert, I… I wasn't always... like this. I'm...” Damien's face burned. He couldn’t say it. He couldn't even face the man.

Without missing a beat, Robert said, “What, transgender?” He huffed. “Doesn't mean you're not a real man.”

Damien’s head shot up. He stared at Robert in disbelief, his dark eyes shining with tears. 

Robert sighed and continued. “Damien. Listen to me. Bigfoot is not real. Mothman is not real. The Dover Ghost, maybe. But you are. If you say you're a man, you're a real man. Fuck people like Lewis.”

Slowly, his lungs seemed to uncoil, and he could inhale fully again.

“I don't know why I'm crying over something as silly as this.” Damien hurriedly wiped his face, then remembered the clean, pressed handkerchief he always carried with him.

“It's your body’s natural way of resetting itself after an a highly emotional encounter. You have to get it out of your system.” When Damien looked at him, amazed as to how he of all people would know this, Robert added, “Group therapy.”

Damien dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief. “This hasn't happened in a long time,” he sighed.

“No wonder Mary told me to walk you home. She knows, huh.” Robert rubbed his back, in an attempt to soothe his friend. “Don't worry. If he comes near you again, I'll fucking knife him,” Robert growled. “I'll whittle him into a goddamn toothpick.”

Damien hiccuped. “Please don't go to prison on my account."

“You only go to prison if you get caught.” He tapped his head with a finger with a knowing smile.

Damien giggled a little wet laugh, despite everything. “Thank you, my friend. You've defended my honour tonight.”

Robert got up from Damien’s porch step, offering a hand to help him up. “Anytime, buddy. If you ever need a bodyguard to walk you home again, you know where to find me.” He gave Damien a rare, genuine smile.

“At one of many esteemed drinking establishments in Maple Bay?”

“You got it, Bloodmarch.”

Robert began to head back to his house, then stopped in the middle of the street to call back to Damien.

“Oh, and if you want any self-defense lessons, I can show you a thing or two!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert's tall tale is based on a famous creepypasta, and his self-defense tip is is based on Muay Thai kickboxing. Also I'm really proud of my whiskey pun.


	4. Craig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On self-improvement, the physical masculine ideal, and challenging yourself.

Since Lucien had been born, since his husband has passed away, Damien had let certain self-care routines slide. But he knew the one person to get him back on track.

It was hard to pin down the man, since he was always so busy. Damien finally managed to catch him early one morning, as Craig was on his daily jog past his house.

“Craig? May I speak with you a moment?”

The man, pushing a twin-seater stroller bearing his two daughters, slowed down in front of his lawn.

“Hey, man. What's up?”

“I was hoping to ask you for fitness advice. I've been meaning to adopt a healthier lifestyle.”

Craig grinned. “Always happy to help a neighbour out when it comes to getting ripped. Let me finish up my run. Why don't you meet me and the girls back at my place?”

Damien agreed, and walked the six feet over to Craig’s house as he jogged into his driveway. A few minutes later, he emerged without Briar and Hazel.

“Come into the garage, we can talk fitness in here.” He opened the door, revealing a world crafted entirely in iron. Barbells and weight plates dominated the place, with a bench in the middle. A rack of dumbbells ran along the wall. A skipping rope hung from a pull-up bar.

“Built this all myself.” Craig grinned proudly.

Damien stared around the place. “It's very impressive.” 

“So! What kind of regimen are you looking for? Muscle mass? Weight loss? General transformation?”

“I'd prefer more muscular definition… but I'm not entirely sure how feasible this is. I must admit, when I had Lucien, life became so unpredictable. However, he will be attending school soon, and I should have more time to myself then.”

“Dude, it’s fine. Fatherhood is pretty time-consuming, but you can work out efficiently. Look at me.”

“I have doubts about my physique.” Damien took a deep breath. “Craig, I'm not exactly how you think I am. I'm... transgender.” He sighed, shoulders sagging. “When I say I had Lucien, I mean in the literal sense.”

Damien had always been lean, slight even, and thankfully angular, which lent him natural masculinity. But there was some undeniable baby weight hanging around that he would be gladly be rid of, since it was causing him no small amount of discomfort, truth be told.

“Oh!” Craig blinked in surprise. “I had no idea.”

“I've been on testosterone for years.” He stared around Craig’s home gym awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “I've enjoyed the changes it brings, but the idea of being to sculpt my body as I wish is very appealing. I envy you.”

“Dude, I didn't always look like this.” His friend chuckles. “I was a stick in college. A very unhealthy stick. I once ate burritos for breakfast, lunch and dinner for entire semester.” Craig smiled fondly at the memory. “But I'm not any more. Just hard work and patience, man.”

“If you're sure,” Damien said, hesitant.

Craig peered at him. “I know. Hang on.” He whipped out his phone, tapping away. “See this guy?” Craig showed him photos of a handsome, smiling bodybuilder, posing for the camera.  

Damien scrolled down, admiring at the man, who was in undeniably fantastic shape. “He's very well-built.”

“He's a trans guy.”

Damien’s jaw dropped, threatening to hit the floor. “You're having me on.”

“Nope. I know him. Fitness business and all. And he's not the only one.” Craig rested a hand on his shoulder. “If he can do it, Damien, you can too. I'll be your personal trainer. And I know, gymtimidation is a thing, especially for newbies, so if you wanna use any of this…” He waved to the whole of his garage. “You’re welcome to come over any time.”

Damien stood in shock for a few seconds. Then, overcome with emotion, Damien hugged him. Craig laughed, returning it and patting him on the back.

“Thank you, Craig. From the bottom of my heart.”

“It's okay, man. I’m here for you. We’re gonna get you shredded.” He grinned like a shark. “So I'll see you here at 7 sharp for some AM cardio, yeah?”

Damien groaned. “Must it be that early?”

“A wise man once said, all successes come with self-discipline. It all starts with you.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “I've never heard that adage. Which philosopher is this?”

“Dwayne the Rock Johnson.”

“I don't think I'm familiar with his work.”

“You will be soon, Damien. You will be.” Craig stuck his hand out. “Bright and early tomorrow morning! You and me, bro.”

Damien shook it. “It's a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trans bodybuilder Craig talks about is called Aydian Dowling!


	5. Hugo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On body art, memorialising the past, and having agency over your physical form.

Hugo was one of his closer friends in the cul-de-sac. They had bonded over literature, often spending hours at the quaint French diner, in deep discussion over a good cheese platter. They’d currently been going through the distinct periods in Emily Dickinson’s poetry, when Hugo had let slip that he, in fact, had tattoos of her work on himself.

Damien struggled to winch his jaw shut. “You have tattoos?” He goggled at his friend. “Why, I never knew!”

Hugo laughed as Damien looked him up and down, to no avail. It was a Friday evening after school hours, and he was still wearing a suit. “I don’t wear enough tank tops for you to see them. They’re on my upper arms.” He offered Damien a slice of rather excellent Camembert. “Would you ever consider getting one?”

Damien took it, chewing thoughtfully. “Yes, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’ve considered flowers as a motif.” His love of horticulture was a widely known fact, and he adored the symbolism they held. “Perhaps to commemorate my loved ones, that would be a noble cause.”

“Always a good reason. Mine reminds me of my passion for teaching.” Hugo nibbled at a morsel of Edam. “Why don’t you come and meet my guy? He could design something just for you.”

Their talk turned to excited chatter about tattoos. Everything, from the all the pieces Hugo had ever gotten, to every minute detail of the process. Damien wanted to know about it all. By the end of the night, he was convinced.

“I’m going to do this. This is something I am going to do,” Damien declared.

“I believe, as my students say, you only live once.”

“The modern day Memento Mori. I’ll toast to that.”

They dinked the pieces of burrata on their forks, and the deal was sealed.

* * *

The tattoo artist, as it turns out, was Pablo’s older brother, Jorge. Unlike his brother, he had full tattoo sleeves and a stern face, much too serious an air for a young man his age.

“How’s Vacant Veil doing?” Hugo asked him, with a grin, as they entered his shop.

“Still keeping me up at night.” Jorge shook hands with Damien, who had eschewed his usual Victorian outfit, in favour of clothing that made his skin more accessible. He'd put on the only tank top he owned, a gift from Craig which bore the words 'GOTH DAD' on the front.

They had previously had consulted Jorge, and had given the artist all the desired elements of the piece. Today was the unveiling. Jorge retrieved the sketch he’d designed, carefully laying it on the table before Damien. Damien clapped a hand to his mouth.

This had been the most challenging bouquet he had ever put together. He had gone with his favourite flower, of course. Roses were an entire language unto themselves, and each colour had so much meaning. They told the story of his life, beginning with yellow roses as an emblem of the deep friendship with Mary. It had been difficult choosing flowers for his husband, but in the end, he'd picked red roses that spoke of their love, and two tea roses twined together in undying remembrance of their marriage. Pink roses marked his gratitude that Lucien had come into their lives. Finally, dark crimson roses mourned his husband's passing. Ivy surrounded them all, representing the lasting bonds he had created with his loved ones. It would begin at his shoulder and cover one side of his chest, up the edge of his pectoral muscles.

“It’s… it's beautiful.” He beamed at Jorge. “I’m very pleased with it.”

“You’re gonna be stoked when it’s actually on you, then.”

He did as Jorge asked, taking his shirt off and lying on his back on the padded table. Jorge applied a cutout of tracing paper to his shoulder and chest, smoothing it down and peeling it off to reveal the stenciled version of his tattoo.

Hugo whistled. “It already looks amazing.”

“Grab a seat, man. We’re gonna be here for a while.” Jorge gestured. Hugo was only too happy to observe the master at work, drawing up a stool and sitting next to his friend.

An insistent buzzing filled the room. Hugo chatted with him to pass the time, and take Damien’s mind off the pain. It felt no different to their usual literary conversations, apart from the fact that a needle was stabbing ink into his skin at up to 3000 times a minute.

“Here, since I talked you into this, I’ll show you mine.” Hugo pulled the sleeves of his Eastern Dragon t-shirt up. On his left bicep, in elegant calligraphy within scrolls, were the words, _If I can stop one heart from breaking_ , and on his right bicep, _I shall not live in vain_.

“Do your students know how very cool their English teacher is?” Damien chuckled at his friend.

“Nope. They’ve never seen my guns. And I plan to keep it that way. Although, it wouldn’t hurt if someone, say, one of my student’s parents, were to start a rumour about my tattoos…”

“More street cred for Mister Vega,” piped up Jorge, not taking his eyes off his work.

The initial sting, like ant bites, was beginning to fade into a dull ache, more akin to a cat’s claws scratching into his skin. Somehow, the longer it went on, the easier it was to ignore.

“This is just the lines,” Jorge reminded him. “You still gotta come back for the colour another day.”

Hugo winced. “Oooh. Colour does burn a little more.”

Damien rolled his eyes. “Thank you for that helpful piece of information, Hugo,” he said, sardonically.

“I’ll be happy to feed you chunks of Wensleydale to ease your suffering?” Hugo offered.

“In that case, I shall feel better directly.”

“See, Damien? You just have to put your faith in cheeses.”

Jorge had to stop and lift his needle off Damien's skin just to groan. It was a lucky thing he did too, because Damien caught a serious case of the giggles, and took a good five minutes to stop shaking with mirth.

After hours of painstaking work, the line art was done. Damien sighed in relief. It was bliss to be able to get up and stretch, for one thing. Jorge applied cream to his chest, then bundled it up with a layer of paper towel, then wrapped it in cling film. He gave Damien instructions on how to care for his new tattoo and an appointment in three weeks to finish the piece.

Damien walked out of the place a little more gingerly than usual. Hugo applauded with enthusiasm.

“You deserve some ice cream,” Hugo insisted. “It’s your reward! Come on, I'm buying.”

He led Damien to a little food truck by the marina. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was beginning to set. Admiring the lovely hues playing off the water, they sat and ate their ice creams (peach for Damien, dark chocolate for Hugo). It was a wonderful distraction from the soreness in his chest.

Damien nudged his neighbour. “So, Hugo, what made you get your tattoos?”

“Human beings seem to have this drive to make each of our appearances truly unique to ourselves, wouldn’t you say? Such as yourself, with your preferred manner of dress. Some use piercings, scars, and even implants. Perhaps it is due to our lack of control over Fate, but being able to intentionally decorate this vehicle we operate is so fulfilling.”

“I quite agree.” Damien gazed at his friend. He hadn’t expected such a thought-provoking notion, though he should have - this was Hugo after all. Damien himself knew all too well the struggle of not being able to dictate the appearance of his own body for a long time, and had taken such great pains for it to look the way he wanted.

“On a related note... I don’t mean to be rude, but could I ask you a question? I’d understand if you would rather not answer.” Hugo looked curiously at his friend.

“You are my friend, are you not?” Damien smiled. “Your intent is not to offend me, I’m sure. Fire away.”

“I did notice, as you were getting tattooed, that you have these scars under your pecs…” Hugo trailed off. “Which, as it happens, are quite well developed. Is that Craig’s handiwork?”

“Craig is the only thing that could get me out of bed before nine in the morning, save an air raid. We exercise together quite often. As for the scars, well… They’re a result of chest surgery.” Damien stared off into blazing orange sky, watching the waves roll past. “I… I wasn’t always the man you know me to be, Hugo. I’m transgender.”

“Ah, I see! I understand now.” Hugo laughed, leaning back.  “My god, Damien. Of course a tattoo like that wouldn’t bother you at all. You’ve certainly endured much more physical pain than that. If I may be so bold as to say so.”

Damien smirked. “Hugo, I pushed an entire human being out of me once. A mere tattoo is not likely to ruffle my feathers.” 

Hugo giggled so hard he nearly dropped his cone. “In all seriousness, I must say, I do admire you.” His friend smiled warmly at him.

“Me?” Damien blinked.

Hugo sat up in his excitement, his face glowing. “Yes! You’ve faced many obstacles in your life, I’m sure, but you’ve met them all head on, and come out stronger for it. Your courage, your resolve, your passion to be utterly yourself... It’s remarkable. Accept no substitutes for Damien Bloodmarch!”

“Thank you,” Damien said, more than a little amused. Hugo was an intense person when he got excited about things, something Damien quite enjoyed, as it usually meant a rousing discussion about Mary Shelley’s impact on Gothic literature. “I appreciate that.”

“To being yourself,” Hugo announced, raising his ice cream.

Damien grinned. “Since everyone else is already taken.”

They tapped their half-eaten cones together, and enjoyed the sunset side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jorge is named after Nina Flowers, a famous drag queen with lovely tattoos. The last quote is from Oscar Wilde. Also, I apologise for the terrible cheeses pun (not really).


	6. Mat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On safe spaces, speaking up for what's right, and inclusive representation.

Damien decided to pay the Coffee Spoon a visit, bringing along a tome of Edgar Allen Poe’s works for company. At times, it was nice to get out and stretch one’s legs, rather than stay at home to read. And besides, the couch in the café had excellent lumbar support. It was a lazy weekday afternoon, and so the cafe was not busy, with only a couple of customers occupying a single table.

“Damien! Hey, man.” Mat came over, as Damien happily reacquainted his behind with said couch. “The usual?”

“You know I can't say no to a good pot of tea.”

“There’s the Peaches & Herbal Tea if you want something soothing, the Cee Lo Green Tea if you want something cleansing, and the Dir Earl Grey if you want to get fancy.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need something a little stronger. A late afternoon pick me up is in order.”

“If you need the caffeine, the Black Tea Label Society blend is the thing for you.”

“Marvellous, thank you, Mat.”

“Coming right up.”

Mat disappeared behind the counter, as Damien settled in to enjoy some quality horror. His experience was somewhat marred by the occasional loud, rude laugh coming from the only table with patrons across the room. It appeared to be a young man, ordinary looking, clean cut even. Nothing remarkable about him at all. He had a rather unpleasant, even mean expression on his face. Was it his imagination, or was the man staring at him?

Damien ignored it, and focused on his reading. Lost in mystery and suspense, he did not take much notice of his surroundings, until suddenly, he heard more raised voices in his periphery.

“... freedom of speech to say whatever I want!”

Damien glanced up from his book. The young man was shouting at Mat in a confrontational manner. Whatever could the argument be about? Mat was staring him down with a steely glint in his dark eyes, unflinching. His friend was a tall, well-built man, and he cut quite an impressive figure, towering over the young man. Damien had never seen him look so fierce.

“Freedom of speech does not mean freedom to be an asshole. If you're going to keep using language like that in my shop, you can get out. Now.” Mat glared at the man, the fury in his voice barely suppressed.

“Fine! I'm not giving a business like this a single cent of my money! I'm leaving!” The young man stormed out, slamming the door. His friend apologised profusely to Mat before rushing after him.

Mat fetched the tray with Damien’s pot of tea, with a Philter Collins for himself, bringing it over to him. They were alone in the cafe now.

“Sorry about that,” Mat said, setting it down on the coffee table and taking a seat next to Damien.

“Whatever was the matter?” Damien set his book down and poured himself a cup, adding just a splash of milk.

Mat sighed heavily. He undid his hair tie and ran his hands through his locs.

“He, uh... boy, I'm glad you didn't hear it. I won't repeat what he said exactly, but he referred to you in a really derogatory manner, and I was not about to let that slide. Not in my place of business. Nuh uh.” Mat huffed, still annoyed.

Damien blinked, stunned. “How unfortunate.”

“I'm shocked that people like him even exist in Maple Bay.” Mat stared into his cup of coffee. “I'm so sorry about that. That's never happened before.”

“Don't apologise. It's not your fault.” Damien took a resigned sip of his tea. “Unfortunately, I am no stranger to receiving unkind words.”

Mat gave him an incredulous look. “Really? I hope people don't talk trash about the way you dress. It's pretty cool.”

“It's not just that.” Damien placed the cup down onto its saucer. “Mat, I'm transgender. That comes with no small amount of discrimination.”

This time, he said it matter-of-factly, as though reporting the weather. He'd long since come to terms with it. But as with every time, he internally braced himself as he stepped into unknown territory, though the leap now was less terrifying than before.

“I'm honoured you trust me enough to tell me, Damien.” Mat laid a hand on his shoulder. “I want this place to be safe for you. You're my friend, and I care about you. And I'm sorry you have to deal with dickheads like that.”

“Don't be,” Damien smiled. “I've met so many lovely people along this journey we call Life, such as your good self. It's more than made up for the occasional unpleasantness.”

“Positive thinking. I like it.” Mat chuckled.

“I must say, I've never had a business owner throw a rude customer out on my behalf before.” Damien smirked. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

“Screw that guy, anyway. I don't want money from bigots.” Mat rolled his eyes.

“Indeed! I am sure if I requested a wedding cake from you, you would oblige.”

Mat finally cracked a small smile. “Damien, buddy, if you were getting married, I would cater the entire thing out of sheer joy.”

“I'm holding you to that, my friend.” Damien grinned.

Mat looked around the place, deep in thought. “I've never really thought about this before, but you know, it wouldn't hurt to make this place more visibly inclusive. I don't want anyone else to feel threatened in here, ever again.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

“I'll have to go home and brainstorm with Carmensita,” Mat murmured, the cogs in his head already turning.

Damien raised his cup of tea at Mat, who clinked his coffee mug to it.

“I look forward to seeing this.”

* * *

A few days later, a message popped up on Dadbook from Mat.

 _Hey dude! There's an open mic night at the Coffee Spoon on Friday at 8pm. I think you'll enjoy it. See you there! PS._ _Bring Lucien, he's gonna love this._

What a pleasant surprise, he thought. Damien replied in the affirmative. He walked down the hallway to Lucien’s room, knocking on the door.

“What?” came a sullen voice from the other side.

“Lucien, dear, Mat’s invited us to an open mic night this Friday.”

“Not interested,” was the bored reply.

“He specifically mentioned that you would love it.”

“Fine,” Lucien answered in a monotone. “I guess he has good taste in music.”

Friday rolled around, and both father and son made an appearance at the Coffee Spoon. The first thing Damien noticed was a new rainbow flag sticker on the shop window, impossible to miss. Inside, it was even less subtle. Where a sheet of painted fabric once draped across the wall behind the little stage area, a large homemade rainbow flag now hung proudly.

Lucien smirked. “Somebody redecorated.” 

“Hey, you made it!” Mat bounded up to them. Damien smiled at his enthusiasm.

“I love the new additions,” he told Mat.

“You'll love our lineup tonight even more. It's a smaller set, but at least Jonathan Jones and the Speakeasy Choir aren't performing.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Damien sighed in relief. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been dreading the possibility. “I have never heard such an awful cacophony in my life.”

Damien and Lucien took their seats, reserved by Mat, front and centre. Mat introduced the first band, an east coast riot punk group called the Third Waves. They turned out to be a gang of dangerous-looking young women, all with different shades of brightly coloured hair. A girl with a septum piercing and buzzcut he recognised as a friend of Lucien’s grabbed the mic.

“This song is called ‘All Homophobes Must Die’. HIT IT!”’

The ladies performed a rather raucous set with great intensity, their fiery passion reminding him of Mary in their college years. Molly ended the last number by smashing an acoustic guitar over one muscular thigh. The crowd went wild.

“Thank you to the Third Waves for that very, uh, energetic set. And up next… The Unhallowed Arts!”

Damien clapped politely. Lucien remained in his seat, texting away, as he had been since the evening’s activities had begun. But the minute he laid eyes on the band, he stared with his mouth gaped open, his phone forgotten.

They were clearly of the goth persuasion, and appeared to be going with an old-school horror movie theme. The closest description Damien could come up with was that they looked as though Robert Smith and Boris Karloff had sired a litter of offspring. They lumbered onstage, and launched into a cover of Feed my Frankenstein, rather appropriately.

Even more curious was the fact that Lucien was watching, rapt, not taking his eyes off the band - or rather, the lead singer, who was wearing a fetching combination of artfully ripped mesh shirt and long leather skirt. Damien thought the black lipstick and neck bolts were a nice touch.

Overall, the band was quite good, playing mostly gothic rock covers. The crowd was loving them, and when the band finished, they begged for an encore. Damien applauded, while Lucien, on the other hand, cheered loudly as they took their final bows. Damien had never seen him this excited, not since he was five and had won a stuffed bat at the fair.

After the event, Lucien hurried off to talk to his friend Molly, as people filed out of the Coffee Spoon. Damien wandered over to Mat, who was standing by the counter, chatting with the frontman of the Unhallowed Arts. He was young black man, with long, raven box braids that cascaded down his back, fading into a graveyard gray towards the ends. He'd taken off the neck bolts, though.

“Damien! Just in time. Let me introduce you to Salem.”

“As in those awful trials?”

“Depends,” he grinned. “You a Witchfinder General?”

“Hardly!” Damien smiled, shaking the young man’s hand. “Damien Bloodmarch, at your service.”

“That's a badass name.” Salem nodded with approval.

Mat nudged him with his elbow playfully. “Dude, wait til you see his house. It's painted all black.”

“Whoa.” Salem looked impressed. “Now that's goth.”

“I live and breathe goth,” Damien assured him. At that moment, Lucien sidled up next to him. “Ah! Salem, may I introduce my son, Lucien.”

“H-hi.” Lucien stammered, his cheeks turning pink. “You guys were just… incredible.”

Salem grinned at Lucien. “Thanks, man. Your dad’s really cool. You guys actually live in a black house?”

“Y-yeah, we do.” Lucien was now blushing into the roots of his silver hair.

As Lucien began to describe the Victorian interior, Mat tugged at Damien, and they left the boys for a cup of Decaf for Cutie.

“So, what'd you think?” Mat asked, as they settled at one of the tables with their mugs.

“I very much enjoyed the evening, thank you. You were quite right about Lucien. He seems to be enamoured with the Unhallowed Arts.”

“I know the other guys from back in the day, though Salem’s a recent addition. They're an out and proud band, as are the Third Waves. I'm thinking of doing themed open mic nights like this from now on, give these bands the representation they deserve, you know?”

“A commendable idea. Do you ever miss that life, as a touring musician?” Damien asked, sipping the excellent, and thankfully non-caffeinated brew. It was rather late in the evening.

“Yeah. Life was just so much simpler back then. You didn't care what someone's gender was, or who they chose to love, you know? You were all just a community, one big family, bonded by your love of playing music.” Mat sighed, lost in memories. “I wish it was like this everywhere.”

“I do too, my friend. Progress is occurring, thankfully.” Damien patted his friend on the shoulder.

“I just wish we were already there,” Mat grumbled. “If not for us, then at least for our kids.”

They looked over to the two boys, who were getting on like a house on fire. Salem appeared to be laughing at something Lucien had said.

An older man Damien recognised as the drummer, still in his grey makeup, popped his head in the door of the cafe.

“Yo, Salem, we gotta go.”

Damien and Mat watched wide-eyed as Salem scribbled something with an eyeliner pencil on the back of a flyer advertising the open mic night, giving it to Lucien. Then, he took Lucien’s hand in his, lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of it, like a gentleman. Lucien turned crimson, and with a sway of his braids, Salem was through the door and gone.

They quickly averted their eyes, stifling their giggles.

“Oh my god,” Mat whispered.

“I can't believe that just happened,” Damien hissed back.

As they pretended not to notice, Lucien marched up behind his father, tugging at his arm. “Time to go!” he declared, his face now a bright scarlet. “Night, Mat! Thank you for inviting us!”

Damien waved to his friend, as Lucien, clearly in a rush, dragged him out of the shop.

As they walked home, appreciating the night air, Damien put an arm around his son.

“So, Salem seems nice,” he teased.

“Daaad,” Lucien whined.

“He is a rather dashing young man, isn't he?” Damien carried on. “He seems to have taken a fancy to you.”

“Yes! He gave me his number, okay? Geez.” Lucien, clearly embarrassed, pulled out the flyer and shoved it at his father. Damien unfolded it, amused. There, on the back of the paper, were the words ‘call me, cute boy’, along with a string of numbers.

“My word.” Damien pretended to be affronted. “In Victorian times, this would be utterly scandalous.”

“Oh, Father,” drawled Lucien. “A suitor has come to court me! Whatever shall we do?”

“Wait for him to send you a bouquet of flowers regarding his intentions, of course.”

“Sure, after I text him back.”

Damien peered at his son, beaming. “Why, Lucien, I haven’t seen you smile this much in a long time.”

Lucien scoffed. “I’m not smiling, you're smiling!” He insisted.

“I’m just happy you’re happy, son.” Damien hugged him closer under his cloak.

“... Okay, maybe a little.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really proud of those tea blend puns. Also, the Unhallowed Arts is a phrase in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Also, did you know Witchfinder General is both a Vincent Price movie and a heavy metal band?


	7. Brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On sexism, toxic masculinity, and not putting up with bullshit.

The shelter had always been a refuge for him. Even at the darkest times in his life, caring for puppies was something he could do, something he always looked forward to.

Currently, Mary was at the reception counter, assisting a potential adopter. Damien was behind her, updating their database of that month’s adoptions. The man was dressed in a well-tailored business suit, and had expressed an interest in adopting a kitten for his daughter. Mary was going through a list of screening checks, which were quite extensive, covering everything from prior experience with cats to the living situation of the adopter. It was her job ensure that the animal went to a safe and loving home, after all.

“And what kind of house do you live in?” Mary asked, scribbling notes on a clipboard.

“We live on the top floor of our tower. Penthouse suite,” the man bragged. “It's very big.”

Mary paused, looking up at the man. “Do you open your windows?”

The man scoffed. “That's a ridiculous question. Of course we do.”

“Then we’re gonna have a problem. To prevent your cat from falling to its death, you're going to need to mesh your windows.”

“Excuse me?” The man crossed his arms.

“Animal mesh. On the windows. So that they don't climb out. We've had cases of it happening in the past.”

“I can't put mesh on my windows!” The man raised his voice, which made Damien looked up from his data entry. “Do you know how much I spent on renovations to make my home look nice? Mesh on the windows is going to look hideous!”

“Do you want an ugly house or a dead cat?” Mary asked, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression sour. 

“You can't talk to me like this! I want to speak to your manager.”

“Fine, but she's going to tell you the same thing.” Mary rolled her eyes and disappeared into the office. The man sulked, tutting with annoyance.

“Hey, buddy.” The man was clearly addressing him, so Damien looked over. “She always this much of a bitch?”

Damien bristled. “Sir, please refrain from addressing our staff as such.”

“You can't be serious.” The man laughed an unpleasant laugh. It made Damien’s skin crawl. “She probably doesn't know what she's talking about.”

“I can assure you, all the shelter staff have been trained in adoption procedures. Mary is simply doing her job,” Damien replied, trying to stay professional despite his rising anger.

“What's the matter? She your girlfriend?” The man smirked, and Damien had to resist the urge to punch him in his sickening face. “You tapped that ass yet? You should. She ain't getting any younger.”

“If you will not cease your uncouth language, we will ask you to leave,” Damien stood, drawing himself up to full height. At that moment, Mary and their supervisor, Mrs Lee, returned. She was an elderly Chinese lady in her early 70s, and had been in the rescue business for the last three decades, but had not lost any of her fire. She treated Mary and Damien like a cross between employees and family.

“What's the matter?” Mrs Lee said, sternly, eyeing the business man up and down.

“This broad tells me I'm going to have to put mesh on all my windows!” The man pointed at Mary. “It'll look horrible. I can't have that.”

“Then you can't have one of our cats,” Mrs Lee told him in a firm tone. “It is shelter policy to prevent the needless deaths of our animals due to negligence. Good day to you.”

The man, who seemed to realise he was outnumbered, decided to leave, but not before ranting that he would just go to another shelter and get a kitten anyway.

“Good luck with that,” Mrs Lee scowled. “We all have the same stance on the matter.” She patted Mary on the shoulder. “Thank you for that, dear. You did the right thing. Lord knows I wouldn't want any of our kittens to live with a man like that.”

“Thanks, Mrs Lee.” Mary sighed, as Mrs Lee returned to her office. “God, I've had it just about up to here with these rich fucks thinking they're entitled to our animals.”

Damien stayed quiet, staring at the floor. Mary nudged him.

“What's wrong, Dames?”

“Nothing. It's just…” Damien fidgeted. “When you left, he said some nasty things about you.”

“Wouldn't be the first time. What'd he say?”

“I… I couldn't repeat it to you. Suffice it to say, he was rather rude about you, and insinuated I should… never mind.” Damien flushed with embarrassment.

Mary snorted. “I've had worse. But thank you for standing up for me, Dames.” She squeezed him in a big hug, which made him feel marginally better.

He tried to put the incident from his mind and get back to work, but somehow, it left a patina of greasiness on his day that disgusted him. He left the shelter that day with much less of a spring in his step than when he'd entered, dragging his feet all the way home.

“Damien!” came a loud booming voice. He looked up. It was Brian, watering his hydrangeas. He crossed the street to say hello. Brian leaned on his fence and wiped sweat from his brow.

“Why the long face, pal? Something bad happen at work?” Brian laid a large hand on his shoulder. “One of the puppies sick again?”

“Oh, nothing like that, the puppies are all well. Thank you for the concern, my friend. I shall be better quite soon.”

Brian was one of the oldest dads in the neighbourhood, and always had a paternal air about him, even to Damien. Perhaps it was that he was the most dadly out of them all, a real man’s man, if there was such a thing. Damien had always found him to be an excellent source of advice, be it garden care or parenting.

Brian seemed to sense that Damien was reluctant to share, and didn't push it. “It's almost the weekend! Want to come fishing with me and Daisy? Just us and nature. Sometimes you just need to get away from society, you know?” He winked.

“That does sound lovely,” Damien mused. Getting away from society appealed to him quite a lot right now.  

“You're on, then. Bright and early Saturday morning, okay? Just hang in there til then!” Brian patted him encouragingly. 

Damien managed a small smile. “Thank you, Brian. I look forward to having a lovely time at the lake.”

* * *

“So, you wanna talk about what's wrong?” Brian asked, concern in his voice.

He and Brian sat side by side on a little wooden pier, fishing lines cast into the lake. Today, Damien had chosen more outdoor-appropriate attire and insect repellent, eschewing his usual Victorian garb and makeup. Daisy was amongst the bushes, conducting an entomological study on the local bugs. Lucien had flat out refused to spend prolonged time in the sunshine.

Damien blinked in surprise. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You just seem a little glum. Is there something bothering you?”

Damien sighed. “Yes, actually.”

He found himself spilling all the details, telling him the entire ugly story of what had happened at the shelter. Brian listened and nodded in sympathy.

“I just fail to see why some men act in such a manner. It's absolutely abhorrent, the things they say to women, to their faces at times. Even worse are the things they say in front of me, because they think I'm somehow complicit,” Damien grumbled. “I'm not. I've been treated as less than by men like that, and now, they think I'm one of them.”

Brian cocked his head to one side. “You kind of lost me there a little, pal.”

Damien sighed, even heavier, staring at the ripples in the river. “I'm transgender, Brian. I suppose my frustration stems from that fact that I have had to endure their sexist garbage for most of my life. Now that they perceive me as ‘one of the boys’, they rope me into their misogynistic banter, thinking that I'll partake as well.”

“Aw, buddy.”

Brian scooped Damien into a big bear hug that nearly made him drop his fishing rod.

“You're our Damien,” Brian said, his voice warm like freshly baked bread. “That's all that matters. And you're not like them at all. You're a good man, and that's why we love you.”

“Thank you,” Damien wheezed, when Brian released him from his burly arms. Brian looked thoughtfully at Damien.

“I guess living life on both sides of the fence has given you quite a perspective on the matter, huh?”

“You could say that again. It's rather demoralising, really.”

“I know exactly what you mean. It happened to Sally a lot.” Brian looked out over the water with a rueful expression.

“Sally?”

“My wife. She passed when Daisy was young. I think that's half the reason she's so mature for her age. She's had to grow up quick.”

“I'm so sorry, Brian. I never knew.”

“Don't be. It sounds corny, but at least she's not hurting any more. The cancer was long and painful, especially toward the end. I think she was glad for it to be over. Anyway,” Brian shook his head. “She and I started this contracting business together. Sally was smart, real smart. That's where Daisy gets it from. She knew the ins and outs of the business, probably better than I did. I used to joke that I was just the big guy that carried the heavy stuff.” Brian chuckled at the memory. “We both handled clients, but it wasn't long before I noticed that they would talk down to her all the time. They assumed she knew nothing, even though she owned 50% of this company. Everything she said, they had a question for. And when I said the same thing, they'd just smile and nod. It frustrated her so much. She'd have to spend half her time convincing them she knew what she was doing, and I didn't have to.”

“So what did you do about it?”

“There's only one thing you can do: call them out on their bullshit.” Damien was stunned, as Brian very rarely used swear words. “You stand up to them, and you tell them it's not okay. Don't let them get away with it. We show them we’re not on their side. And from what it sounded like, you did just that back in the shelter.” Brian patted him genially on the back.

“Wherever did you get such a charming philosophy, Brian?” Damien smiled.

“Mama,” Brian replied. “She raised her five boys to respect women, and if any of us were to behave the way that man did to Mary, she would have come up out of her grave to drag us home by the ear.”

They both shared a laugh. Damien was already feeling his chest lighten. His interest in fishing renewed, he wiggled his rod impatiently. Still not a single catch.

“I'm sure Daisy gets her fair share of it.”

“Oh, yeah. She's the brightest in her class, and that gets her no small amount of bullying from some of the boys. Maybe they feel intimidated. I sure did when I first met Sally, but it's a blessing. I'm proud of my girls for being so smart and I'm going to cheer them on.” Brian smiled at the figure of Daisy, hunched over with a clean jam jar in hand, attempting to capture something.

“Dad!” Daisy came bounding over with Maxwell the corgi not far behind. “Look what I found!”

She brandished her jar. It had a few twigs and leaves in it, as well as a beetle with an iridescent green shell. “ _Chrysochus auratus._ I'm pretty sure, I checked the guide. This is a Dogbane Leaf Beetle! Because it's found on the plant of the same name.” The beetle’s metallic casing glinted in the sun.

“It's quite a fetching little fellow,” Damien said, peering at it through the glass.

Brian laughed a big belly laugh, as he often did, and hugged his daughter to him with one arm. “That's my girl. Isn't she smart?” He smooched her on the head.

“Dad!” She giggled.

“Just make sure you let that poor beetle back into the wild when you've finished your study of it,” Damien reminded her.

“Okay, Mister Bloodmarch!” Daisy ran off again with Maxwell. She grabbed a sketchbook and began drawing diagrams of the beetle, as Damien and Brian went back to their fishing.

“You're doing a remarkable job with Daisy,” Damien nudged him.

“Oh, stop,” Brian demurred, with a bashful nudge back. “I try my best.”

“If her classmates are rude to her, it may please you to know that many of the children are under the impression that I am a vampire,” Damien added, smirking. “Perhaps that will strike fear into their hearts.”

Brian glanced over, pretending to be shocked. “You mean you're not?”

“I would have burned to a crisp by now, if I was one.”

“You could be one of those special daytime ones, like in that Vampire Crusade movie.”

“Perhaps. But I assure you, I am not.” Damien winked. “Or am I?”

Brian gave a hearty laugh. “You've been hanging around with Robert, I see. But you know, I think you just gave me an idea…”

* * *

On Monday morning, the Bloodmarchs were doing their usual school run, with a slight detour. Damien’s 1932 Packard Twin Six pulled up in front of the Harding ranch-style home. Daisy was out front with her backpack and lunch bag, and got into the car next to an indifferent Lucien, who was texting away.

“Thank you for driving me to school, Mister Bloodmarch. Dad has to take Maxwell to the vet for his vaccinations.”

“It's no trouble at all, my dear.”

Damien pulled up to the school, and the kids exited the car.  

“Bye, Dad,” Lucien muttered, without looking back.

Daisy waved back to him. “Thanks, Mister Bloodmarch!”

A gaggle of rowdy teenage boys by the front steps looked over. Damien leaned out of the car.

“Have a good day at school, children!” He smiled at Daisy and Lucien, deliberately flashing his fangs. He hadn't worn them since three Halloweens ago, but had fished them out of a box in the attic just for this. They were the good ones, and quite realistic too.

The boys over yonder began to huddle and chatter furiously. As Damien started to drive away, they swarmed towards Daisy, asking her all kinds of questions.

* * *

Later that day, a message from Brian popped up on his Dadbook.

_It worked! Daisy’s classmates are scared of you!_

Damien laughed out loud, then replied with a short, cheeky message.

_Good. They should be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The car Damien drives is the same one in the Addams Family movie (1991).


	8. Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On additions to the family, teaching an old dog new tricks, and moving on from the pain of loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on to your seats, the dad jokes are gonna get worse, because this is your Dadsona talking.

The day’s finally here. Amanda storms into my room in a frenzy of excitement at the crack of dawn, or what seems like it. She hasn't done this since she was 10, and only on Christmas mornings.

“Dad, wake up! The shelter’s going to be open soon!” She shakes my blanketed form vigorously.

“How soon is soon?” I croak.

“In two hours.”

“Amanda,” I grumble, pulling the covers over my head.

“I figure we could swing by the food truck, get some burritos, and then maybe your boyf- I mean, Damien, could let us in early.”

“Burritos for breakfast?” I raise a sleepy eyebrow.

“Yeah, Dad. There are these magical concoctions called breakfast burritos for this specific purpose. Pleeease?”

She drags out the last word in a plaintive whine. I relent and drag myself out of bed. I suppose should look presentable for the world. I make an extra effort to look good for Damien, now that we have an ‘understanding’, as he calls it.

Amanda is already good to go, buzzing around the car when I exit the front door, looking as suave as I can at seven in the morning. She bounces in her seat with nervous energy on the way to morning Mexican food.

“What are we going to name it? I guess we don't know if it'll be a boy or girl. Maybe we should pick a gender neutral name. But then again, it all depends on how it looks, right? Can’t have a big dog with a small dog name. Can’t have a small dog with a big dog name either.”

“Slow down, Amanda, you're going to give yourself whiplash.”

“Okay, okay. I'm so excited.”

“And you just can't hide it?” A smug smile spreads across my face.

Amanda groans. “Why. Why did I set that up for you.”

We grab the breakfast burritos, which are really no different to normal burritos, except that they contain scrambled eggs and hash browns instead of meat and rice. They're delicious, though. Amanda chows down at top speed, practically inhaling her food.

“If you choke to death, you won't be around to witness the adoption, you know.”

“I'll take the risk.” She grins and finishes her food by stuffing the entire butt end of the burrito into her face. “Done,” she proclaims, her voice muffled.

We drive over to the animal shelter once I catch up and finish my food. Damien is already waiting for us out front, in civilian clothing like an undercover cop. He looks radiant as always, his long dark hair tied up for practicality’s sake. He beams at the sight of us. In a brief moment of daring, I kiss his cheek in greeting. A hint of pink colours his face.

“Awww.” Amanda grins.

“Well! Good morning to you too.” Damien smiles. “I suppose we shouldn't delay this any further. I can see Miss Amanda is about to burst at the seams with anticipation.”

“Hell yeah,” she says with a fist pump. “Let's do this.”

Damien leads us inside, to where the dogs are housed in individual pens. “The important thing is that you feel a certain chemistry with the animal. You'll know it when you see it. In my experience, it's usually the animal that chooses the human,” he tells me.

Meanwhile, Amanda is beside herself with glee. I haven't seen her smile this much since she won a kiddie calzone eating competition at the local pizzeria when she was 12. Clearly takes after her father. I hear non-stop squealing as she moves from pen to pen, renewed in volume every time she finds a new dog cuter than the last.

“Dad. Dad. Dad. You have to see this one.” Amanda drags me over to one of the pens. In it, there's a mostly black, medium-sized, short-haired dog. It looks like it's just past the puppy stage into adolescence. I can't tell what breed it is right away, since it appears to be a mongrel, but it looks like a German shepherd.

“Dad, he has eyebrows, look!” Sure enough, on the dog’s brow, above its eyes, are matching little brown markings that give it the look of thick, cartoonish eyebrows. It's quite endearing.

The dog perks up when it sees Amanda. It makes a beeline for the gate of the pen, scrabbling at it.

“Would you like to get acquainted with him?” Damien asks.

“Does a vampire suck blood?” she answers with a cheeky smile. I roll my eyes. She's a regular old comedian, just like her dad.

“Well, according to some cultural and historical accounts, some vampires feed on one’s life force.” Damien’s explanation is met with a blank stare. “I'm going to assume you meant yes.”

He unlocks the door, entering and clipping a leash to the dog’s collar, leading it out. It leaps at Amanda immediately, putting its paws on her.

Damien chuckles. “Why, he's almost as excited as you are, Miss Amanda.”

The dog is busy running circles around our legs, sniffing at us with unbridled enthusiasm. Amanda crouches down, petting his head and giving him chin scratches, which it seems to adore.

I squat next to her. “I think it's safe to say he likes you.”

“Oooh yes. You're a good boy. The best boy.” The dog flops down in front of her, and she strokes a hand down its back. I join in, petting its wiry curls. Its tongue is hanging out as it pants, wagging its tail furiously.

“He’s very enthusiastic. Boisterous, even. Don't tell the others,” Damien says to me in a stage whisper, “but this one is my favourite.”

“I can see why.” Amanda laughs as it tries to lick our faces. She looks up at me with puppy eyes. Very fitting. “Dad, please? You said I could pick. I want this one.”

“Just remember this moment when it's time to decide whether to put me in a nursing home,” I tell her.

Amanda squeals and seizes me in a big bear hug. Then, she grabs Damien and does the same. Then, she grabs the dog and does the same.

I follow Damien, who leads the pup out on the leash to the reception counter, where Mary is waiting.

“See anyone you like?”

“Yep!” Amanda pipes up. “This one. I love him already. I would do anything for him.”

Mary gives her a rare smile. “Got a name for him yet?”

“Sirius,” she declares. Mary writes it onto the paperwork.

“Ah! As in the brightest star in our night sky?” Damien asks.

“As in Black.” Amanda looks very pleased with herself. I am not surprised in the least. Amanda has dragged me to enough midnight book releases for me to know that it's a Harry Potter reference.

Mary passes me a clipboard with adoption form to sign. I pull out my wallet, about to hand her the adoption fee, when-

“I want to do it!” Amanda exclaims. She nudges me. “Can I borrow some money?” she whispers.

I hand her the adoption fee. She hands it back to me. I hand it to Mary.

Mary slams a stamp onto the adoption certificate. “He's all yours.”

Amanda whoops and cheers. She hugs Sirius to her, who lets out a happy bark.

“This is the best day of my life.”

* * *

We decide to take Sirius for his first walk as a member of the family. Damien joins us, back in his usual attire. It’s a lovely evening, the sun not quite set yet, the rays of dying light playing off the water. Apart from the few regular joggers doing their laps, not many people are around this time of day. We stroll by the marina, Amanda and Sirius romping around ahead of us. Damien and I are walking side by side. I subtly take his hand in mine.

“I hope this isn't too outrageous.” 

“My modesty will survive.” He smiles, holding my hand. “Did you manage to get everything?”

Prior to Sirius’ arrival, he'd given us a list of the things we would need. Everything, from dog bowls to pooper scoopers. Amanda picked out the collar and leash herself, black with tiny bones all over them.

“All done. Amanda and I had fun shopping for it all.”

We sit on a bench as Amanda bonds with our new dog. It's a heartwarming scene. Damien and I watch as they both roll around on the grass.

“I've loaned her several books on dog training. Sirius will be learning new tricks in no time.”

“I might need some, too. Guess I'll to come over to visit your personal library…”

Damien smirks. “Like you ever needed an excuse to come over.”

We watch as Amanda attempts to get Sirius to shake hands. Every time he puts his paw in her hand, she pulls out a dog treat from her pocket, and he chomps it with gusto.  

I yawn. Or pretend to, anyway. I stretch my arms with a big sigh, then rest one on the back of the bench behind him.

Damien stifles a laugh. “How very smooth of you.”

“I try.”

He shifts closer, so I put my arm around him. He sighs with contentment. “How very fortunate I am… I haven't been this happy in a long time.”

“You're a wonderful person, Damien. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

“I suppose.” He sighs again. “It hasn't been the easiest thing in the world for me. To be struck by Cupid’s arrow once more, after so many years… after his passing… I feel so blessed.”

Damien hasn't said much about his late husband, and I never pried. I figure he'll open up about it when the time is right. Which seems to be now.

I hug him closer, and press a kiss to his head. He blushes a little. “Will you tell me about him?”

Damien looks at me, surprised. “Of course.” He stares into the sunset, which is painting the water a fiery orange. “He was in the rescue business. He'd been passionate about animals since he was a boy, and then he grew up to be a vet.”

I hold Damien’s hand in mine, trying to convey my support wordlessly, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles.

“I met him while working at the shelter. One day, on the way to work, I found this poor pup… she'd been abandoned, wandering around near the park, crying for food. She was so skinny, she must have been starving. I took her straight to the shelter. The owner, Mrs Lee, she drove us to the vet, and there he was. Tall, dark and handsome. Well, dark-haired, anyway.” Damien smiles at the memory. “He's saved the lives of so many of our rescues over the years. But he always thought of doing more to help them. That's the kind of man he was.”

“He sounds amazing. I would have fallen head over heels for him too.” I grin. Damien chuckles.

“I wouldn't be surprised. After that, he dropped by the shelter an awful lot, and would make it a point to ask after me. It was rather adorable, actually, the way he'd get all flustered at the sight of me. One day, he managed to muster up the courage to inquire what I was doing after work, and… well, the rest is history, isn't it.” Damien leans back onto me, a wistful expression on his face. “We fell in love, we got married, we built a house and a life together. Then Lucien came along.”

“Did you adopt him?” I ask.

Damien suddenly glances at me, a little stricken. “Darling, I… I gave birth to Lucien.” He looks away, uncomfortable. Then he takes a deep breath and says, “I’m transgender. I hope you don't think of me any differently.”

It couldn't have been easy to tell me. I squeeze his hand in an effort to comfort him.

“Of course not. Damien, I love all the things that make you who you are.” I brush his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. “That doesn’t change the way I feel about you, not at all. You mean the world to me. I… I love you.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever said it. He peers up at me, eyes glistening. Tears roll down his cheek. I panic briefly. I've never been good with people crying, not even Amanda. I place my palm to his cheek and wipe them away with a thumb.

“Please don't cry,” I say. 

“It's tears of joy, silly.” He smiles weakly, placing his hand on mine.

I'm not sure what else to do. I know what I want to do, though.

“May I kiss you?”

He sniffs. “Are you sure? Like this?”

“I don't care. I want to kiss you all the time.”

Damien giggles wetly, then nods. His eyelashes are damp, I can see it from this distance. I lean in, closing my eyes and pressing my mouth to his, just a soft, chaste kiss. When I pull away, he's looking shyly at me, his cheeks a fetching shade of bright pink.

“Oh, darling.” he breathes. “I love you too.”

I smooch his forehead, which makes him giggle some more. Damien rests his head on my shoulder, and I cuddle him close. I stroke his hair, inhaling its pleasant floral scent and marveling at how soft it is.

We watch Amanda try to play fetch with Sirius, who bounds after a tennis ball she's thrown, but hasn't mastered returning it to her. She looks so happy, almost as happy as when she got her acceptance letter to Horne. Maybe even more so.

“Will you tell me about Amanda’s father one day?” Damien asks me, breaking the silence. I consider it. The loss still aches in my heart, until today. I've never told any of our neighbours about him yet, about who he was and what he was like. But Damien is special to me, and I know he understands what I'm going through.

“Yeah,” I murmur, holding him tight to me. “Someday. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad that it's over? Don't worry! There's two sequels in this series! And I have other Dream Daddy fics too. Go on, it's called binge reading. I support you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to interviewwithadadvampire on tumblr for being the inspiration for this.


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